Pale Dawn Dark Sunset

by Anne Mather

  Towards the morning she fell into a restless sleep, punctuated with horrific nightmares that brought her upright in the bed, sweating with fear. However, eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and she was still sleeping when Eva Mejor arrived with her breakfast.

  But with the morning came the uneasy conviction that perhaps her memories of the night before had been merely the result of an overcharged imagination. Had it really happened? Had Rafael held her in his arms and kissed her, carried her to her bedroom and attempted to make love to her—or had she dreamed it all? The empty water glass lying on the floor was small reassurance when Rafael himself appeared, as remote as ever. The usual routine of examination and discussion deviated in no way from the pattern and his touch was as impersonal as it had ever been. Did she imagine the slight darkening of his eyes as he straightened the bedcovers, and were the lines etched so grimly beside his mouth deeper than they had been the day before? She couldn’t be sure, and with Eva Mejor’s inquisitive eyes noting every detail of their silent interchange she had no chance to find out.

  Rafael paused after his examination and said: “You seem much improved, señorita. Maybe tomorrow we can permit you to return to the hacienda.”

  Miranda’s lips parted. “Oh, no—that is, I can’t go back there.”

  Rafael scowled. “Why not?”

  Miranda looked meaningfully towards Eva and with a flick of his fingers Rafael dismissed the other woman. “Well?” he queried curtly.

  Miranda sighed. “You know your mother doesn’t want me to go back,” she stated flatly.

  Rafael took a step nearer the bed. “My mother does not wish you—” He broke off. “Explain yourself, señorita.”

  Miranda lay back on the pillows wearily. “Oh, Rafael, must we go on with this stupid masquerade? You know perfectly well that your mother imagines I have designs on your brother! And for goodness’ sake, stop calling me señorita! My name is Miranda, and you know that as well as I do!”

  Rafael’s fists clenched. “You do not make it easy for me, do you, Miranda?” he demanded in a tortured voice. “Very well, I do think of you as Miranda, but what I do not understand is this affair of Juan and yourself. In what way are you involved with him?”

  Miranda turned her face aside from the anger in his. “I am not involved with him,” she declared impatiently. “Surely Constancia told you he has broken his engagement.”

  “Impossible!” Rafael stared at her. “No. Constancia did not tell me this.” He shook his head. “I confess, I did not give her the opportunity. You had fainted. I had other things on my mind.”

  “And haven’t you been up to the hacienda since I’ve been here?” exclaimed Miranda incredulously, turning to look at him again, but now he turned away.

  “No.” he admitted in a low voice. “No, I have not been to the hacienda.”

  “Oh, Rafael! But you said—when I had the accident—”

  “I said that my family had been informed of your accident, and so they were. I sent a message. And since then I have had no time.”

  Miranda looked down at her fingers twisting the cotton sheet. “Well, anyway, that’s not important now, is it? As you say, I’m much improved. I shall make arrangements for Lucy and me to leave the valley as soon as possible—”

  “No!” Rafael was adamant. “No, you cannot do that.”

  “Why not?” Miranda looked up. “I—I have to get back. And Lucy will have to come with me. Whatever your brother says.”

  Rafael turned to look at her broodingly. “And what did he say to you, Miranda? Why did he break his betrothal?”

  Miranda flushed. “That’s not important—”

  “I disagree. I want to know Miranda.” He took a step nearer the bed. “Tell me! I insist.”

  Miranda was troubled by the impassioned penetration of his eyes. Shaking her head, she said: “Oh, it was silly—silly! He said he was in love with me. Me!” She gave a short laugh. “I didn’t believe him, of course.”

  Rafael was breathing heavily. “I see. But you said none of this to me.”

  “How could I?” Miranda spread her hands. “Would you have been interested?”

  Rafael had himself under rigid control. “It has been an impossible situation from the start. But naturally you will go back to the hacienda. I myself, will arrange it. And if Juan makes a nuisance of himself—”

  “Oh, please, please! I don’t want to go back there.” Miranda was very nearly at the end of her tether. She drew a steadying breath. “As I’ve said, I shall make arrangements to leave the valley—”

  “Not yet!” Rafael spoke through his teeth. “Miranda, I beg of you, do not drive me too far!”

  Miranda caught her breath. “I don’t know what you mean—”

  “Oh, yes, you do.” Rafael was pale now. For a few moments he looked at her as he had looked at her the night before and then with a harsh exclamation he moved towards the door. “I must go,” he muttered thickly. “I have work to do. I—Eva will bring you your clothes and you may dress and go outside for a while. But do not leave the immediate vicinity of this house, do you understand?”

  Miranda nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and he went out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Miranda was not as strong as she had imagined. Her walk to the river and back exhausted her and she was glad of the mug of hot, milky chocolate which Eva had waiting for her on her return. The two women sat together companionably in the kitchen, but their lack of communication robbed the situation of any feeling of shared confidence. Eva’s English was confined to a few sentences relating to the sickroom and any attempt at conversation left both of them at a loss.

  They were still sitting there when a visitor arrived. He came striding down the hall, calling Rafael’s name, and Evan sprang to her feet excitedly and said: “Este le padre, señorita.”

  A few moments later Father Domenico appeared in the doorway. “Ah, buenos dias, señoritas. Como esta?”

  Eva replied in her own language and Miranda gave a slight smile. She had not seen the priest since the evening of the dinner party at the hacienda when they had been introduced and she suspected his motives for being here. He was a close friend of Doña Isabella and no doubt he was on business for the Cueras family.

  Eva offered chocolate which he accepted and after a few words with her he seated himself opposite Miranda. “Eva tells me that Rafael is not here, señorita. I am not sorry. I wanted to speak with you.”

  Miranda’s fingers tightened round her beaker. “With me, señor?”

  “Si, señorita. Ah, chocolate, Eva, gracias.“ He took the mug gratefully and the other girl, either sensing he wanted to speak privately with Miranda or having been forewarned excused herself and left them. “Ahora, señorita, now we can talk, si?”

  Miranda took a sip of her chocolate before replying. “I can’t imagine what we have to talk about, señor. If it’s about Lucy and Juan, I should tell you—”

  “Peace, my daughter! I did not come here to talk of your niece or her estimable benefactor. No.” He shook his head. “I wish to speak with you of Rafael.”

  “Rafael?” Miranda couldn’t hide her astonishment. “But—” Her cheeks burned suddenly. “What about Rafael?”

  For an agonising moment she wondered if Rafael had seen the priest that morning and confessed his behaviour of the night before to him. But as Father Domenico continued she realised that if Rafael had sought absolution it was not from him.

  “I am concerned about Rafael,” he replied confidingly. “And I thought perhaps you, with your—shall we say objective assessment of the situation, might be able to help me.”

  Miranda gripped the beaker with both hands. “Yes?”

  “Yes.” Father Domenico paused. “It is not easy for me, señorita. This is a—delicate matter. But one which I feel might ultimately be of assistance to his family.”

  “Yes.” Miranda knew she sounded naïve, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t imagine why she should have been
singled out to hear his concern about Rafael. Surely Doña Isabella had not sanctioned this!

  The priest drummed his fingers on the table for a moment and then stilled them. “You are aware, are you not, señorita, that Rafael believes he has this vocation to enter the priesthood?”

  “Constancia—that is—Señorita Cueras told me.”

  He nodded. “So. What you may not be aware of is that his—decision—was not approved by his mother.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Father Domenico shook his head. “Rafael is the eldest son. The estate is his heritage, not Juan’s. It was most distressing for his mother when he chose to ignore the responsibilities that were his.”

  Miranda licked her dry lips. “Perhaps—perhaps he considered these—other responsibilities more important.”

  Father Domenico shook his head again, impatiently. “Rafael is an idealist,” he said, as though it was not a nice thing to be. “He has acquired some notion that his actions can influence the—what do you say?—status quo? Si, the status quo. But of course, it would need a minor revolution to do that, and one man cannot hope for so much.”

  “Rafael cares about the people—”

  “Of course he does. The patron always cares about his people. That is nothing new. We constantly strive towards better conditions for the people.”

  “But he wants to help them—physically help them—”

  “I do not deny it.” The priest spread his hands, but Miranda sensed a certain impatience in him now. “Rafael is a lot like his father, and the people loved him.” His lips twisted. “Too well, some might say. And Rafael would not care for the comparison. It brings back too many unwelcome recollections.”

  Miranda moved her shoulders uncomfortably. “I really don’t think you should be discussing Raf—Don Rafael’s private affairs with me.”

  “No?” The priest’s eyes were very penetrating. “And yet in a comparatively small space of time you have come to know each member of this family very well, señorita.”

  “The—circumstances were—unusual, señor.”

  “Unusual? Yes, I agree. But nevertheless, you have to admit that your presence here in the valley has already caused no small upheaval.”

  Miranda sighed. “So we are going to talk about Juan and Lucy, señor.”

  Father Domenico uttered an ejaculation. “Only indirectly, señorita. I am not questioning Juan’s fondness for you—for both of you. Doña Isabella is of the old school which clings to the—how do you say?—matrimonio de convenieccia?—the arranged marriage, si? She finds it hard to accept the fact that Juan has a mind of his own and refuses to be dominated any longer. Naturally, she was shocked. Naturally, she did not accept it at first. But gradually—”

  “What are you trying to say, señor?” Miranda’s stomach muscles were taut.

  Father Domenico shrugged. “I am merely conveying that so far as Doña Isabella is concerned, there will be no further opposition to your—friendship—with Juan.”

  Miranda gasped. “Juan and I are not friends, señor. We are acquaintances. His—his behaviour over Lucy has destroyed any friendship there might have been between us!”

  “But you do not understand what I am saying, señorita. You may stay in the valley with Doña Isabella’s blessing. Both of you. Your problems are over.”

  Miranda thought they were only just beginning. “Señor—”

  “Momento, señorita. We will discuss the matter of Juan and Lucy later.” He held up his hand as she would have interrupted him, and said: “Please—let me finish what I have to say concerning Rafael.” He waited until the animosity died out of her face and then went on: “The situation is this—since returning to the valley for his uncle’s funeral, Rafael has become more and more involved with our life here. A priest does not do this. He must always maintain a measure of—shall we say—detachment? Like a doctor, emotion must not enter into his ministry, do you understand? Rafael is not like this. He has allowed emotion to rule his head, I have seen it. And how could it be otherwise? He is the son of his father, no matter how he may rebel against his heritage.”

  “But why are you telling me all this?” exclaimed Miranda, still not fully understanding the implications so far as she was concerned. She was too bemused by it all, too confused.

  Father Domenico finished his chocolate and made a gesture of appreciation. “Doña Isabella understands her sons’ dilemmas, señorita. With my help she has come to appreciate the difficulties. As patron, Juan could not be permitted to marry a—stranger, verdad? But, if this is what he wants, and he is prepared to give up the estate…”

  And suddenly, sickeningly, Miranda was aware of what all this had been leading up to. Whether or not Rafael had a vocation was not the question. Doña Isabella’s sole concern was to bring her eldest son back into his rightful position. Hadn’t she demonstrated time and again her preference for Rafael, her frustration that he found so little time to spend with her? He was her first-born, her favourite, that was obvious. And now, with the priest’s help, she had devised this sanctioning of Juan’s infatuation for the English girls in the hope that Rafael might feel obliged to step into his brother’s shoes should Juan vacate them. And she never, for one moment, imagined that Rafael himself might be attracted to Miranda…

  With a determined effort, Miranda got to her feet. “I’m afraid you’ve been wasting your time, señor. I cannot speak for—for Juan, of course, but so far as I am concerned any emotional relationship between us is purely imaginary. I don’t love Juan! I don’t even like him very much. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t love me!”

  As Father Domenico stood up and faced her, a frown drawing his black brows together, there was a squeal of brakes from outside. Miranda recognised the sound of the Landrover and her stomach muscles tautened as footsteps came down the hall.

  Rafael appeared in the doorway, but there was another man close behind him, a man Miranda thought she recognised and then told herself she was having hallucinations. Rafael looked tired and drawn, and her heart went out to him, but her eyes merely registered the presence of the priest before he stood stiffly aside. The other man entered the room and Miranda caught her breath. He was a tall man, who had once been heavily built but whose flesh now hung slackly, and he walked more heavily on one foot than the other.

  “I believe you know this man, señorita, said Rafael abruptly, and Miranda moved her head slowly up and down.

  Much thinner than she remembered, his shoulders slightly hunched beneath the ill-fitting grey suit, nevertheless Miranda would have known her brother-in-law anywhere. “Bob?” she whispered disbelievingly.

  “Miranda,” he said nodding, and then more strongly: “Miranda!” and she covered the space between them to be enclosed in his bearlike embrace.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ON the journey up to the monastery to meet his daughter Bob Carmichael endeavoured to tell Miranda what had happened to him. But first he had told her that Susan was dead, and the faint hopes which had arisen inside her were doused for ever. And at least one of Lucy’s parents was alive.

  Squashed in the front of the Landrover between Bob and Rafael, Miranda tried to concentrate on what her brother-in-law was saying when all the while she was conscious of Rafael’s thigh pressing against her own, and his shoulder slightly overlapping hers. Once she shifted a little and accidentally put a hand on his leg to support herself as she did so, only to attempt to withdraw it swiftly when she realised what she had done. But Rafael’s right hand captured hers and secured it.

  “There was one hell of a storm,” Bob was saying. “The plane wasn’t full and we were sitting near the back. I guess everyone forward of us was killed outright. We were losing altitude and those peaks seemed hellish close. I don’t honestly know what happened. Maybe the tail tipped the rock-face, but whatever it was, it snapped off and the rest of the plane crashed down into this ravine.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know all this at the time, of course. Both Susan and I were badly injur
ed. Oh, yes, Susan was still alive after the crash, but we both thought Lucy was dead. I think that was what destroyed Susan’s will to hang on.” He broke off, obviously emotionally disturbed, and Miranda felt a little of the depth of his grief.

  “Anyway,” he continued, at last, “Lucy must have been flung some distance away from the broken fuselage, because her body wasn’t found. I assumed later that it had gone down the ravine.” He sighed. “But I mustn’t get ahead of myself, must I?” He shook his head. “Susan and I were the only survivors in the tail end of the fuselage.”

  “You were conscious!” Miranda broke out.

  “Oh, yes. To begin with, at least. I don’t remember a lot about what happened, but I do recall being almost frozen to death, and Susan’s blood clotting on her head—” He broke off. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I don’t mean to be morbid.” He paused. “We were found, almost dead, I think, by some Indians from a remote mountain village. They didn’t speak any English, of course, and by the time I was able to say anything Susan was already dead. I don’t know how long I lay in that hut, hovering on the borderline between life and death—three, maybe four months, I don’t know. The villagers were simple people. They had no medical supplies, no real contact with the outside world! Winter was pretty rough. I think if I’d died, no one would ever have heard of me again.”

  He looked across at Rafael. “Maybe you can understand this. Maybe you know these people. They’re intensely independent. They used what skills they had to help me. If I was to die, they had done what they could.”

  Rafael’s face was grave. “I am not an Indian, señor,” he said quietly. “But they are honourable people.”

  Bob made an impatient gesture. “I’m not criticising what they did for me, señor. Nevertheless, no message was sent to the authorities that I was still alive, and not until I was able to walk and express my concern did word filter through that there was a foreign man living in this village in the mountains.”